


Trapped in the Void

by CelestialVoid



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Gen, How Do I Tag, Lucid Dreaming, M/M, Night Terrors, Nightmares, Nogitsune Stiles, Nogitsune Stiles Stilinski, Oneshot, Void Stiles, Wolf Derek, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-15
Updated: 2017-07-15
Packaged: 2018-12-02 10:38:41
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11507667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialVoid/pseuds/CelestialVoid
Summary: Stiles is trapped inside his own mind while the Nogitsune has control over his body, but he’s fighting back.During a pack meeting, Stiles is explaining a plan on how to take down the Alpha pack when Derek notices he’s absentmindedly writing something.





	Trapped in the Void

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the Tumblr Post: http://imagine-sterek.tumblr.com/post/160509990998/imagine-stiles-being-trapped-inside-his-own-mind

It was as if he were drifting in oblivion, lost in the tangled mess of his own mind. He was weightless, drifting like a leaf caught by the tide of the creek. He had no control; he couldn’t move his arms, he couldn’t move his mouth, he could only watch—helpless—as someone else, some _thing_ else, controlled his body.

“Help,” he whispered into the void, his voice strained to a weak whimper; he knew no-one else could hear him. “Help me.”

He closed his eyes and when he opened them again, he found himself standing in the foyer of the dark ruins of the Hale house.

He wasn’t awake, he knew that much.

He stayed still, his ears screaming from the silence as the roaring tide of sounds – whistles, screams and gushing air – deafened him. He watched as the ruins of the Hale house rose around him as if time was reversing; the charred, black wood rising weightlessly into the air and rebuilding the magnificent structure.

“This can’t be real,” he gasped. “I’ve got to be dreaming.”

The house was restored to its youth; the rich grains of the wooden beams holding their bright beige colour, the bitter scent of ash and smoke replaced by the sweet scent of the beams and the pines and birch trees which surrounded the house, the halls filled with the whispers of parents and the laughter of children.

“Wake up,” Stiles told himself. “Wake up...”

He listened as the sounds died away, focusing on the huffing breaths outside the house. He stepped forward, gently pulling the door open and stepping out on the balcony.

He stared down the large wolf, his black fur lit by the moonlight.

Stiles cautiously stepped forward, his bare feet shuffling through the blanket of dead leaves that covered the front yard, hand outstretched towards the magnificent beast.

His tender fingers brushed against the wolf’s forehead.

It stepped forward, nuzzling its face into the palm of his hand.

Stiles let out a soft sigh and smiled, gently patting the wolf’s head.

“Derek?” Stiles whispered, looking down at the wolf. “It’s you, right? It has to be you…”

The wolf nuzzled his face into Stiles’ hand, slowly morphing into something else, a human form.

Stiles felt the warm skin of the man’s cheek brush against his palm, the soft whiskers prickling his skin as Derek slowly lifted his bright aventurine eyes and looked up at Stiles.

Stiles wanted to sigh, he wanted to cry with relief, but he felt something tighten on him, squeezing the air out of his lungs. He winced and looked up at Derek, panicked.

“Help me,” Stiles gasped. “Please, help me.”

 

 

Derek bolted upright, knocking his book aside in the violent motion. A cold sweat clung to his skin as he drew in his shoulders heaved in deep breaths and tried to steady his racing heartbeat.

“Derek?” a familiar voice called to him.

“I’m fine,” he muttered as he rose to his feet, ignoring Scott’s worried gaze. “I just haven’t had much sleep, that’s all.”

“I know you’re worried about the Alpha pack,” Scott said softly. “But that’s why we called the pack meeting.”

Derek wanted to tell him the truth, but there didn’t seem to be a right way to say ‘I’ve been having nightmares about Stiles and I’m worried’, so he simply nodded. He didn’t listen to anything else Scott said as he raked his fingers through his tousled raven-black hair and stepped over to the desk.

A few minutes later, the pack was gathered around the desk, a large sheet of paper stretched before them as they exchanged ideas.

Derek couldn’t take his eyes off Stiles. He looked normal—aside from the dark bags under his eyes, but that was a look they all had.

He was the same Stiles: his unkempt brown hair was tossed about, his face twisted into over exaggerated expressions and his hands flying about the place as gestured wildly.

But, even so, something seemed wrong.

It was like a spot the difference puzzle, and Derek swore there was something wrong, something that just wasn’t right.

He let out a heavy sigh and ran his hands down his face, his gaze falling to the page. His brow furrowed. Stiles was in the middle of explaining his plan for taking down the Alpha pack when Derek realised his hand was moving absentmindedly. Not moving; writing.

 

 

Stiles’ head ached, his throat was dry from screaming into oblivion and weak tears fell down his mole-speckled cheeks.

“Please,” he sobbed. “Please, someone help me.”

He knew they were there, lingering in the shadows behind him, laughing at him and mocking him; they had control over his body and he was left to sob like a child.

Then he felt it, the strange sensation of a weight in his hand. He looked down; nothing was there, but he felt _something_.

It was like waking from a dream where you were holding something, the phantom sensation still lingering on his hand. Only, this time, that sensation was real.

He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath, focusing on the sensation. He focused on moving his arm, trying to remember how to tense his muscles and control his movements as he began to spell out familiar words.

 

 

Derek stared down at the paper, watching as the scrawls began to take shape, forming words, then sentences. His eyes flew open wide as he read them.

DON’T TRUST THIS STILES.

HE’S NOT REAL. HE’S NOT ME.

I’M TRAPPED INSIDE.

DON’T TRUST HIM.

HELP ME.

PLEASE.

HELP.

**Author's Note:**

> celestialvoid-fanfiction.tumblr.com


End file.
